Never too old to be a child

Coping with the Loss of a Parent: Finding Comfort and Healing

I sat down at the dining table with some friends, one of whom had just lost their dad too. I could tell that he was a mess, but unlike me, he seemed to have the words, the freedom to say what he felt. He also had the freedom to take shots for the pain he felt... tequila shots, that is, a freedom I had given up and truly don't miss.

The thing about sharing your thoughts, especially about your pain and particularly on the death of a loved one, is that, unlike food or wine, you cannot share it and have others taste what you are tasting. Therefore, their words, even spoken in love with the intention to comfort, come without having the ability to truly relate.

"Even though I am an adult, all grown up, I still feel like I'm an orphan." Those words, said out loud, felt and tasted like we finally had eaten from the same dish. Not that you would want anyone else to go through what you do, but when you have someone who has, someone who gets it... there is comfort in not being alone.

How is it that I can be 42 years old, a wife, and a mother of three, and still feel like a child in these very moments? I suppose, if you look at it, no matter how old you are, your parent is still that—your mommy or daddy—and you are always their child, baby girl, or baby boy. You can't outgrow them, out-need them, or out-parent them.

No matter how old I got, how married I was, or how many kids I had, my Baba was still the man who had gone ahead of me, the one who I could call when I faced the unknown. Even if it was all new to me, the chances are my dad had been there and done that. I felt covered under the safety blanket of his life experience. To him, I was still just a child who had so much more life to live, who still had so much more to try out.

No matter how many birthdays I have had, no matter how many candles burned on my cake, no matter if I could no longer eat cake because it's too sweet and I get bloated, I was still always my Baba's little girl. He still sent me birthday money through M-Pesa. I was never too old for him to celebrate, and no matter how many years went by, he always said, "I remember it like it was yesterday, the day you were born."

But now here I am, never having imagined, never in my worst nightmares thought, that I would now be never too old to feel like... an orphan.

Oh Baba, whose baby girl will I be now? Whose safety blanket of experience will cover me now? Will anyone remember my birthday, send me a little gift? Was the day I was born and the memory of it lost with you? Will I even matter to anyone else like I did to you? Will I ever feel like I matter as much again? Will I ever feel like the reason to get up, to work hard, to try? You did all that for me.

Here I am, standing alone, feeling like a fatherless child, and no matter how old I am, how married I am, how many kids I have, Baba, I just want to cry, lay on your chest, and be a child with a dad. I wish you could comfort me. I wish you had told me what to do when I don't have you anymore because no matter how old I get, how married I am, how many kids I have, I'm just a kid, still needing her Baba.

Bible Verses for Comfort and Healing

Psalm 34:18: "The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."

Psalm 73:26: "My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever."

Matthew 5:4: "Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."